Taking another look, I trace the front and back once more. Noth—
“Hold up,” I murmur. “Hold up, hold up.”
Retracing the seam along the bottom of the piece, I smile.
Yeah, right there. I didn’t imagine it.
Lifting the gold-and-diamond apple up to the light, I see the slightly protruding bump. My smile widens into a grin. I jerk up my pant leg and remove the dagger there. Within seconds, I maneuver the tip under the bump and pry it out. As soon as the piece is free, a small blinking object falls out, tumbling to my lap.
I set the necklace down on the coffee table and carefully pick up the minuscule thing that looks like the red pill fromThe Matrix.
A tracker.
Abena embedded a tracker in the necklaces.
That sneaky bitch.
Do all the necklaces have them? Or just the ones given to the Seven?
I’d bet Mirror’s left nut only my crew has ’em. How long had Penn said they had them? A few days?
Shit.
I close my eyes, picturing Tera when we met the informant. Had she been wearing the pendant at the time? Squeezing my eyes tighter, I picture her. Try to remember when we returned to our bikes, and she unzipped her jacket.
No. I release a pent-up breath. She hadn’t been wearing it. But shit. None of them knew their movements were being tracked. They will soon though.
Fucking Abena. I have to give it to her; that shit was crafty. This, paired with the assassination attempt, solidifies that Abenasuspects how the tide is starting to change. She’s gunning for me, and maybe she’s figured out I’ve been coming for her all along. This move though… This one I can turn around and use to my advantage.
And I plan on doing just that.
CHAPTER SEVENEshe
The brackish scent of Massachusetts Bay weighs heavy on the night air. The waters of the port gleam under the moonlight like onyx. The distant din of traffic can’t drown out the gentle lap of the waves.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I’m ready to hear the whisper of my Remington M24 and the muffled thud as the bullet meets its target.
I’m ready to hear screams.
It’s been a slow few days.
I survey the area, taking note of a large shipping crate that a couple of workers moved to the end of the dock about ten minutes earlier. They’re oblivious to the danger that lies in wait above them. Since yesterday and the meeting at my house, we’ve mapped out the area and are intimately familiar with it. I let my Seven in on the truth about their necklaces, and now we’re using them to our advantage. If Abena decides to check their locations, she’ll find my girls at Elysian and riding around downtown Boston. In reality, Nef, Doc, Kenya, and Sienna and I are stretched out on top of other containers, our rifles at the ready. Tera, Penn, and Maura take point on the ground. We’re spread out, but I can still feel, fucking taste, the excitement and anticipation in the air. Not only are we snatching bitch-ass traffickers’ souls and saving women and children from certain hell, but we’re gathering proof that Abena is involved in committing one of the family’s cardinal sins.
We have a plan in place to take out Abena. But if all goes well this evening, that timeline will be pushed up.
And it’ll be the end of a nine-year sentence.
“A’ight, y’all. A black Hummer is pulling up now,” Kenya’s low voice announces through my earpiece. “Look alive, sweet peas.”
I suppress a snicker.
“We have four targets—I mean, men—heading toward the pier,” Kenya says. “Not Mwuaji. Doc, they’re headed in your direction.”
“Got ’em,” Tyeesha says, voice calm, steady.
As the men walk into view, I press my eye to the scope, getting the one on the far right in my crosshairs.
